


The Rise of a Stormblessed

by ParallelDimension75



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Drow, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Forgotten Realms Elements, Minor Character Death, Origin Story, Post-Out of the Abyss, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Snippets, Sort Of, The Underdark (Forgotten Realms), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParallelDimension75/pseuds/ParallelDimension75
Summary: There are no chosen ones; not here. Not any more. The Demon War had its chosen ones, its heroes and villains. Even the Underdark gave its fair share. Epic battles rage between good and evil and the fate of the world hangs in the balance....But the chosen ones are taking care of that. Nuray A'Daragon isn't a chosen one; she's a drow warrior from Menzoberranzan who mostly runs errands and occasionally kills Underdark monstrosities. While some of the most powerful entities on the Material Plane fight, ordinary people still face an ordinary world's cruelties. Nuray certainly won't save the world—but perhaps, she can still be some kind of hero.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. The Tale - Trial by Fire

The gargling scream was cut off with an awful _squelch_. The unmistakable sound of drow flesh being crushed.

Nuray had become intimately familiar with it these past few moments.

She could feel her breath and heartbeat in all of her body, as if she’d been reduced to only that. She certainly felt like she had been, hands clasped over her mouth, back pressed into the massive stone pillar.

_Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._

Nuray turned her head, leaning ever so slightly out. Melthor was the only one left alive; the drow, the boy, babbled and pleaded as the fire giant grabbed his remaining leg and hoisted him up. His other remained on the ground, still sputtering and oozing thick red blood.

Nuray could only see the fire giant’s arm from here, but just that was enough to make her snap back behind the pillar, shrivelling up with fear. Her insides were made only of echoing terror, compounding and worsening with each breath, each moment. Her body _ached_ with it as she wished she could be anywhere else but here.

Then his voice. Oh, Lolth, the giant’s _voice_.

“How about we give this one a taste of his own people’s medicine?” Thick, accented Undercommon, like roiling molten rock in a volcano pouring down her ears. “Torture you all the way to death. We’ll have to make do with less of you, but I’m sure we’ll manage. How would you like that, knife-ear? You can be the first offering in reparation for your people’s deal-breaking.”

“Please,” the boy babbled. His voice sounded breathy, slurred, his consciousness no doubt ebbing away from his wounds. “I don’t know anything, I haven’t done anything, I-I’m just a soldier, I’ve never—”

The giant laughed—a sound chillingly akin to the sadistic cackling of a drow priestess, if it wasn’t so loud that Nuray could feel it in her bones.

Another giant spoke, this time in their tongue. They conversed briefly, and all Nuray could understand was Melthor’s pitiful crying.

 _I’m sorry,_ Nuray wanted to say. No, not sorry—she wanted to leap out and carve the giants’ flesh from their bones, rip their throats out, bury her longsword in their hearts and scream a war cry for the ages.

But she couldn’t.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t.

The fear had literally frozen her.

Nuray heard the giants move and for a horrible, brief moment Nuray was positive they were coming for _her_. That like Liliira, their heads with manes of fire would peer around the pillar and they would drag her out, kicking and screaming and crying, before taking her in both meaty hands and ripping her clean in two.

Then, mercy.

Their footsteps distanced.

Melthor’s crying turned into sobbing. Nuray didn’t know how long she sat there as the sounds quieted, faded, and disappeared entirely. And still she sat, convinced that somehow, she could still hear the boy’s sobbing.

He was thirty, barely out of Melee-Magthere. Talented, but he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. That was the only reason why he was here. He could have been part of the honour guard of a noblewoman, part of a priestess’ entourage, a high-ranking soldier—instead here he was. In pieces. Doomed to die. Was likely being tortured right this very moment.

In her fear, with only silence for company, Nuray’s own mind took part in her torment. Perhaps a giant was still here, she thought. Sitting, waiting, _knowing_ she was hiding but wanting to make the moment of capture one of shattered relief, a torturous ruination. It was something a drow priestess would do. Letting a slave escape from their cell and get all the way down the corridor before swooping in, crushing their heart into pieces even smaller than they had been before.

Nuray didn’t know how long she sat there, her armour digging into her back. It almost felt like the dull pain was skittering up and down her spine. Like her sins, crawling up her back—like spiders.

 _Coward_.

She was a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So yeah, this isn't gonna be a play-by-play of a D&D campaign. Yes, Nuray might be a character I've played. Yes, she might be a drow, and thus inherently edgy. But please, hear me out.
> 
> Nuray started off as a joke character to mess with the DM (all in good fun, o'course) and thus had little in the way of backstory; just enough to justify her existence. As I played her, I realised she was actually a lot of fun, and I kept finding myself writing little snippets of her story. Mostly backstory, some based on sessions or in-between sessions. So I'm posting it here to a) hopefully make myself write more and b) maybe entertain someone, who knows. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ♥︎


	2. Memories - A Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long ago, Nuray mourned the passing of a dear companion.

_Breathe._

She needed breath to go further, to keep her going. She had to keep it measured. Uncontrolled breath could scatter her heart rate, could make sound, could rob her thoughts of clarity.

Even if it was the bare fucking minimum right now, Nuray needed her breath.

These halls were terrifying. Everything was made for beings that could make twenty of her. Even then the ceilings were still high and vaunted, with beautiful but harsh gothic decals that would have made duergar builders swoon with jealousy. Nuray was an ant to these creatures, a bug. Something to squash; something to put hands in front of and food near to see how it scurried before you tore its legs off. The architecture was the same as Lolth's churches. It was made for beings that were better than you, and it wouldn't let you forget it.

She pressed herself close to the walls, shifting from one alcove to the next. She hadn't seen any giants; she'd _heard_ the hint of a few of them, footsteps or distant, deep voices, and that had been enough to make her cower behind the foot of a statue for hours.

Eventually, she stumbled across a library. Her world became a maze of books and bookcases, with massive tomes that were bigger than she was. But every moment held with it the fear that around the corner there would be a fire giant, gleeful and wicked, ready to tear her into pieces.

Nuray found herself in a dusty and desolate-looking section of the library with bookshelves she could fit inside of. And that she did. Her legs ached. Her chest trembled with the effort of not bursting into tears.

So she fit herself behind a book, curled her legs up to her chest, and let her mind wander any place but here.

* * *

Magdalena looked up from the rickety cot. The human slave’s face crinkled into a smile as she saw Nuray, lined with the many artful wrinkles age had drawn on her face. Nuray smiled back before she could think about it, pulling up the hard Zhurkwood stool to sit beside her.

Was this how younger races often died? Lying in bed, too weak to move more than necessary, those they trusted clustered around their bedside? Nuray could not remember tale of a single drow who had died from simply… growing old. A violent death of some kind was expected, assumed.

Magda’s hand was shaking as she reached out, the thin and papery skin hanging loose over protruding knuckles. She took Nuray’s hand in her own and her smile broadened.

“Are you here to tell me how my mistress has bid me to die?”

Nuray’s teeth kneaded the inside of her lower lip. She nodded once, struggling to comprehend that soon Magda would really be _gone_. “She’s left it to me. She… Doesn’t mind, which way.”

Magda nodded as much as she was able. “A kind woman, your mother. May I speak my mind in my final moments, my dear?”

“Of course.” Nuray wanted to squeeze her hand, to hold her close, but she was terrified the frail human would just disintegrate.

Magda smiled again, a slight sadness to her gaze. “Your mother _is_ kind, Nuray. Even if it is buried under the cruel facade your people name normalcy. Most become that facade, as has she, to an extent. I am glad I never knew her as truly cruel to the depths of her soul.”

Nuray nodded once.

“You, however…” Magda lifted her hand, slow and trembling. The leathery skin with so many valleys, ridges and shades of colour brushed against Nuray’s cheek. Magda chuckled, giving Nuray’s chin a soft pet. “You were always so bad at lying, sweetheart. Even to yourself.”

 _Sweetheart_. It sounded so strange in the drow tongue, two words that would never have fit together. Yet through sheer surety, Magda made it a real word.

Nuray realised she was still smiling. Something was pricking her eyes.

Madga sighed, a sound she had used to describe falling leaves. Nuray imagined vivid green strips, like snippings of spider silk, falling to the ground with a soft rustling sound.

“It’s so selfish…” Magda’s voice whistled through her throat. Wind, Nuray imagined. “I want you to promise me… That you’ll never become like the rest of them. That you’ll stay the girl with a sweet heart that I’ve known since childhood…” Magda laughed once, the sound morphing into a hacking cough halfway through. “I raised you so poorly… I didn’t understand how the world worked, then, not truly. It’s my fault that you never…” Magda shook her head again, then grinned up at Nuray. “I remember when you were young… You would always tense whenever a scream sounded in the streets. When even _I_ had become used to them, you would always react—I could see, I could always see.” Magda smiled and tapped her temple, knowing, tears in her eyes. “I ruined you. I prayed every day that you were at Melee-Magthere that I hadn’t made you too weak for it. That I hadn’t blunted your viciousness too badly. I even found myself praying to Lolth those final, brutal months, and I _thanked_ her when you graduated.”

Nuray’s vision was misting slightly. “You didn’t ruin me. You raised me; I’m grateful to you. Truly. For… Everything.”

Magda shifted to hold Nuray’s hand in both of her own, her uneven thumb smoothing over uniform skin. “And how do _you_ bid me die?”

Nuray’s teeth chattered and they nearly bit into her lip. “…How… How do you want to die?”

Magda raised an eyebrow. “My. …Thank you. A great kindness.”

Nuray shook her head. “No, no—it’s the least you deserve.”

Magda laughed lightly. “Such a sweetheart you are… Oh, of _course_ I’ve ruined you. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be grateful, my dear. You should be… Cursing me, yes. Cursing my youthful foolishness.”

Nuray shook her head. She didn’t quite know what she could say.

Madga shook her head, shifting in her bed. “Regardless… I have wasted your air for long enough. Please, my dear, just make it quick… Nice and quick. Yes.”

A handful of years over sixty wasn’t old. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. “Of course,” Nuray answered. It wasn’t fair that Magda had to leave so soon. Nuray still had centuries left. “I understand.”

Magda’s smile—oh, Lolth, Nuray would miss it. “ And if you could do it while I slept… You would make an old woman very happy. I’m a coward… I don’t want to feel it.”

“Don’t worry,” Nuray whispered. “You won’t. I promise.”

Nuray talked to her for the rest of the day, putting it off as long as she could. They went over childhood stories and every vague memory Magda had of the surface from her brief few years there. Nuray imagined she could feel her mother’s impatience, but she had set aside this day for a reason. By Lolth, she would make it worth every moment.

By the end, when the faerie fires were dimming outside and Nuray’s legs were growing sore and numb from the hard stool, Magda looked more at ease than Nuray had ever seen her.

“I brought a farewell gift.” Nuray stood, legs stiff. “Give me a moment—I’ll go bring it.”

Quickly, quickly, before her mother could ask her what she was doing. She’d be able to explain it, just—she didn’t really want to deal with her family right now. It was in her room on her table where she’d left it, waiting for her—she’d wanted to see Magda off kindly no matter what. She had a good bottle of mushroom wine, the sort of stuff Nuray knew Magda liked from what little she had been allowed to try over the years. Beside it, the poison—a small vial with an opaque liquid made from a soft white mushroom with a bluish tinge, capable of brewing the deepest sleep draught Nuray could reasonably afford.

Nuray came back with the wine, the vial, and two glasses. “I’ve brought something to help you sleep,” she said, setting them down. “And some wine to wash it down with. Your favourite; Q’Xorlarrin Ninety-five.”

Magda’s eyes widened in surprise and she put a hand to her chest, laughing. “Oh, no! You shouldn’t have.”

Nuray watched Magda drink the sleeping draught with the distinct feeling of something lodged in her throat. She could feel the slightest of quivers in her hands as she poured two glasses of wine, helping Magda sit up for a final drink.

“To your health,” Magda said with a wry grin. “A common one where I’m from, to my memory. Not that you can precisely return it.”

“To a peaceful, joyous afterlife,” Nuray responded, doing her best to smile for the old woman. The glasses clinked, and Nuray downed as much alcohol as she could in one swallow. She wished her mother had bigger wine glasses.

Magda, to her credit, could still employ human boorishness when necessary. She drank down the wine like it was water, throat bobbing with each gulp. She sighed as she drained her glass dry, setting it carefully down on the table. She winked as Nuray snorted.

The sleeping draught didn’t take long; Magda’s eyelids drooped, and Nuray had to help her lie back down. The old woman mumbled in her old tongue, and Nuray was so, so thankful that her mother had left this to her. She felt like an intruder as she waited, trying not to listen, catching handfuls of words as the delirium took hold Magda.

“Father?” Magda’s voice was slurred. “I haven’t seen you in… So long…”

Nuray found herself biting her lip again. An old habit, a bad one. It made her easy to read.

“I wonder how you’ve been… I told your ashes I’d come back. All those years ago when they came… Them dark ‘uns and their swords.” Magda’s voice briefly disintegrated into coughing. When she started again, it was in a gravelly whisper. “I lived, like you asked, I lived… And now I’ve lived… So now… Can I… Could I… Come see you…?”

Nuray gritted her teeth. Had she understood correctly? Her heart hurt at the prospect she probably had.

“Oh…” Magda’s voice was so, so soft, as was her smile. “The sun… I’ve missed you. I’ve got a good story for you…”

Nuray waited and waited, longer than she should have. She waited more. She knew Magda was asleep, but… She didn’t want to do it.

Nuray sighed, turning back. She squeezed Magda’s shoulders, said her name, went through the list to check if she was conscious. Nothing—Magda was deeper than sleep. They performed surgery with this draught.

With a sigh, Nuray slipped one hand behind the back of Magda’s head. Her skin was warm. If Nuray focused, she swore she could feel Magda’s heartbeat.

Why were her hands trembling? Lolth, why was this so hard?

Nuray put the dagger to Magda’s throat. The side, under her jaw. One slice across to the other side, opening the vein and the artery in one. Leave the windpipe alone, so she wouldn’t have to hear the horrible gasping.

“Come on,” Nuray hissed. “Come on.” Why was this so hard? “Fuck, come _on_.”

She huffed out a breath. Magda would be so disappointed if those were the last words she said before slitting her throat. _“Come now, dear. Really? Getting so emotional over your things isn’t becoming of a drow—then of course, I’m no drow; I might be wrong. Am I wrong?”_

Nuray felt herself smile again. This time, her vision wasn’t misting—she could feel it, real tears tentatively spilling over and slipping away down her cheeks.

“Goodbye, Magda,” Nuray said softly. “May you forever find happiness in the grace of… Your god.”

In saying that, she might have broken a cardinal law of the Way of Lolth. She might have just enacted some ritual in the service of another god. It didn’t matter. Propriety was the furthest thing from her mind right now. Magda deserved it.

Magda’s skin parted as easily as water. Her blood flowed out as easily as a brook. Her life drained away, and Nuray drank the rest of the wine straight from the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I dunno how often this'll happen, with the flashback chapters—but I thought this would be an appropriate place to stick this one to get to know Nuray a lil bit better before we dive in to more of the plot meat. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ♥︎


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